Anna Whitcomb Muses about Riverrock a New England Family Saga, Whitcomb Woods, and other events of life
It has been many a year since I wrote anything for this blog. I have been sort of preoccupied with grandchildren, family, being a board President of Cambridge Neighbors – an aging in place – nonprofit, and now I am thinking about what is next for me. President Jimmy Carter’s memorial service is tomorrow at the National Cathedral. He truly cared for the world.
In a few weeks we will have DJT sworn in as President again. Hard to believe, and for that matter scary for America’s future. Recently I have been enjoying reading Mary Oliver’s book Upstream, a selection of essays. Each essay is a joy and gem of exquisite writing, vivid, real, and reminds me of my walks in Whitcomb Woods as an child and adult. I was such fond memories of the trail, the crunch of oak leaves, the smell of the woods, and sitting peacefully on the large rock by the stream with the names of the family on the plaque pinned to the rock. My aunt and I used to go ice skating in the pond on the trail when it was very very cold .. like this week .. We would bring hot chocolate down in a thermos and put our skates on by the side of the pond. Friends in the neighborhood would join us. It was special. Many years later when I lived on Belmont Hill in an old farm house ( Netflix owner Reed Hastings) lived in our house.. I would walk back in the field and skate at night in another small overflow pond from the Belmont Day School. Such simple pleasures. My neighbor and I would skate in our nightgowns, and I would bring a lantern so we could see. I miss that ice, global warming has taken it away from us. I remember I skated on Spy Pond the 90s with my husband and son. We could glide for miles.. ( really many many yards) It was freedom at its best. No more. And very long ago they would cut blocks of ice from Spy Pond, for refrigeration and ice boxes – I often still call them the refrigerator, ice box.
The book sits on the shelf and I give a copy to people hoping someone will make it into a movie.. but maybe not. There are more chapters to add. Perhaps the real story is more compelling than what my mother wrote although lots of it is true. Let me just say my father and mother were both very difficult people and it was my aunt who truly supported me. As an only, without much support from my immediate family it was a blessing I had such a special aunt, a gift. Like Mary Oliver, she loved nature, and taught me to see the beauty, peacefulness, and meditative joy of the natural world. Now more than ever. Peace be with you.
Anna